


DC7: Wrong Envelope

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: Wrong Envelope...Curry's whole day feels like it is going wrong and dealing with a recovering "caged up" Heyes isn't helping him any. But, oh-oh, there is a Hannibal Heyes plan in the worksDestiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. what does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC7: Wrong Envelope

“Wrong Envelope”

 

 

 

The light in the room was turning gray. Heyes set his book down, his angled face tight and pale from the endless weeks of healing. Rolling from the bed, he lit the lamps and stared for a time out the window at the nightly carnival of decadence, kicking up on the streets of Delano. The aching throb in his chest felt like it was never going to leave him and trying to ignore it he returned to bed. ‘Wonder when Kid will return,” he thought, and picking up his book, he disappeared back into it. Sometime later, a part of him heard the key in the lock. It was the key that kept him from reacting. He knew only one person had the key and knowing this he kept reading.

Curry entered with a sandwich wrapped in butcher paper and a large, speckled blue metal cup of coffee; striding across the room wearing a jubilant smile, he asked “you ready to travel?”

Heyes barely glanced up, but the arched eyebrow spoke volumes to anyone who knew him.

“I was not ribbing you, Heyes.”

Curry received an expression like he had fallen off his bar stool and cracked his head, his dark eyes flicking back to the pages before him, Heyes dryly asked, “Why did you come into a windfall of currency? Or, maybe you robbed one of the four banks while you were out.”

Curry’s irritation could be seen simmering just behind his blue eyes. “No,” he responded, setting the coffee and sandwich on the table by Heyes. “Swear every time I read that book’s name my stomach clenches. Why would you read such a thing?”

Marking his page and turning the book so he could read the cover, _Crime and Punishment,_ he shrugged, setting it aside, saying, “ _It would be interesting to know what men are most afraid of._ ”

“And, I would find it more interesting if you’d break off quoting that book to me.”

The large dimple grin appeared. “So tell me, how have you determined we are escaping Wichita? Don’t think I’m feeling stout enough to add horse thief to my punishment list.”

Curry glanced at the thick book lying on the calico bedspread and rolled his eyes. However, his smile returned. A full, boyish smile that was contagious enough Heyes could not help but return it. Then, with showmanship flare, Curry removed an envelope from the interior pocket of his vest. “We are fixing to make Wichita a part of our past,” he stated, tossing the envelope to Heyes. “I got paid for the loading Chisholm’s mule train. The head driver had a pair of train tickets to Denver he traded me for my work.”

Hannibal Heyes’ largest smile appeared along with a hoot of joy and he all but tore the envelope open. Except when he did, a deep crease appeared between his brows.

Curry did not see his reaction as he was bent over pulling off his boots.

Heyes’ dark eyes narrowed, scanning the fine penmanship of the letter he was holding, his nose wrinkled and he looked back in the envelope.

Curry having removed his shirt was pouring water into the basin to wash up.

With a cough, Heyes dropped into a smooth orator’s voice: My dearest, I am not sure if this will ever reach you. I have sent several letters to the address you gave me, but have yet to receive a reply. Still, I shall endeavor. I miss you so much. I know we were together for only a short time, but in those heady, few days, you carved your way deep into my heart. Your tenderness, your gentle ways, despite all you have seen and endured continues to astound me. How can you be so resilient? So kind? You will think me foolish, but I still have the lock of hair you allowed me to cut. I keep it pressed in the pages of a book, so no one will see it… except me. I wish I could gaze once more into your blue eyes. Just once, it would last me a lifetime. Please write, if you can. Even a roughly, torn, scrap of paper with your name on it would mean the world to me. I remain yours, forever….

Kid Curry turned from the bowl scrubbing at his wet curls with the towel, “didn’t get the idea that book you’re reading was a love story.” An oily grin emerged, “wait ‘till I tell the boys, what it is you like reading.” He tossed the towel across the footboard of his bed, “Humpf, learn something new every day.”

“Why yes, you do.” Heyes tilted his head, quirking a lopsided grin. “Did you ever send her a scrap of paper with your dear name on it?”

“What?” Curry grunted, now bent over untying his holster skid from his thigh.

“When and where was this short…” Heyes glanced at the paper in his hand, “oh yes, _heady_ time?”

Straightening and unbuckling the belt, Curry asked, “What are you going on about?” Looking back over his shoulder, he scrunched his face at his partner before taking the few steps needed to lay his holster on the table.

“This _my dearest_ …” Heyes shook the letter at Curry. “Sure don’t look like train tickets.”

What was happening finally struck home and Curry leapt across the room, snatching the envelope up, to look inside, just as Heyes had already done, earlier. “This ain’t right?!”

“You can sure say that again, you’re supposed to be _so kind,_ and here you’re yanking’ me about with the temptations of leaving,  and you’ve also gone and broken this poor gal’s heart.”

Curry seized the letter, his eyes scrolling over it.

In a tone, dripping with acid sarcasm, Heyes stated, “What, you think I skipped reading any part of it to you?”

“This isn’t my letter.”

“Sure, blue eyes.”

“It’s not!!”

Snorting, Heyes took up the sandwich, unwrapping it, “one thing I can tell you...” he took a bite, and around the mouthful said, “... it isn’t train tickets.”

“He gave me the wrong envelope.”

“That’s the excuse you’re going with.” Heyes rolled his eyes, taking another bite of the roast beef sandwich.

“I’m telling you, it’s the wrong envelope!”

“Like I’m supposed to believe you Don Juan.”

“What?”

Swallowing down his bite, Heyes eyes sparkled, his mouth quirking to the side, “He was a great seducer of women, left ‘em longing for him and broken-hearted.” Then with a dismissive wave at his cousin, he took another bite.

“Heyes, it was supposed to be tickets to Denver… not a letter.” Curry crossed his arms across his bare chest, his eyes bunching tighter together and stating each word strong and clear, he growled, “It is the wrong envelope.”

Swallowing the last of the sandwich, Heyes ran his tongue across his teeth and hand across his mouth, “Are you telling me, you didn’t look in the envelope?”

Curry became sheepish, “didn’t see a reason to.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Kid, to see if it contained what you had labored for.”

“I trusted him.”

“You rob banks and trains for a living and you trusted him.”

“Well, not everyone is as larcenous as you, Heyes.” Curry snapped, plopping into the armchair.

“ _He is a man of intelligence, but to act sensibly, intelligence is not enough_.”

“There you go with _that book_ again.” Curry snarled, a scowl darkening his friendly, good looks.

Heyes’ mouth twisted, pinching tight, the bridge of his nose developing definite wrinkles and breath by breath, his face was turning hard and cold as a winter gravestone.

Curry closed his eyes and opening them, exhaled out, “I’m sorry, all right.”

Dropping his face into his hand, Heyes rubbed at it with a growl.

“What do you want me to say, Heyes?”

Looking up, Heyes revealed an evil grin, “How about you go into the details on how your tender, gentle ways carved your way into her heart.”

“It was the WRONG ENVELOPE… it is not my letter!!!”

The wicked grin expanded into a double dimpled smile that became laughter, “how much have we got?”

Curry exhaled, “Six dollars and thirty-two cents.”

“That include your rainy day stash?”

Corner of Curry’s mouth raised, “Nine dollars and thirty-two cents.”

“And, you spent the twenty in my hat?” Heyes said, ticking it off the list with an arch of his brow, already knowing Curry would reply yes.

Curry rubbed at his face, peeking at his partner through his fingers, “I forgot you kept funds there.”

“Ah _... but to act sensibly_.”

“You keep quoting that book and I’m gonna shoot you myself.”

Pointing to his empty holster rolled up, on top of the dresser, “Not like I could defend myself.” Heyes responded and went on saying, “If you had used the twenty, you wouldn’t have needed to sell my revolver.”

This time Curry looked twice as sheepish.

Taking up the, now, mostly cold cup of coffee, Heyes downed it in a few gulps and swung his legs off the bed. “We got twenty-nine dollars and thirty-two cents, get dressed.”

“What?”

“Stop saying that.” Heyes grunted out while pullin on his boots.

“Why am I getting re-dressed?”

“We are going shopping for a game.”

“Not sure about that.”

“Well, I am. _When reason fails, the devil helps._ Besides, hasn’t enough bad happened to us in Wichita for a lifetime?”

Out in the hurly burly night, the first point Heyes noticed was the lack of scantily clad women on the sporting house porches. Yet it was not surprising, for with the setting of the sun, the fall night had become crisp enough to have their breaths puffing out in clouds, as they walked.

For the next hour, they ducked in and out of gambling establishments, purchasing short beers and drinking them slow, as Heyes studied the tables. Until he turned to Curry, “that’s the one; them gents over near the stairs. Their attire says they have an abundance of banknotes and their lack of skill says I will be transferring their funds to our pockets.”

“You think you can play it close enough that we’ll be able to buy tickets.”

“I think I can play it close enough that we’ll be buying tickets and a whole lot more. But, I haven’t got an iron…” Heyes patted the shiny spot on his pant leg where his holster skid normally rode, “… to back myself up. So I’m laying it all on you, tonight, partner.”

“You expect trouble?” Curry looked to the table, noting the fancy shooting rigs on two of the players.

“To not expect it, would be foolish.” Heyes slugged back the remainder of his beer. “Especially the way I’m planning on skinning them.”


End file.
